695 Sonnet

Let me not to the marriage of true minds (Sonnet CXVI)
William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

694 True Fact #1 - Holding Breath

Monday, May 14, 2006

(This entry and the previous two refer to an earlier entry where journalers were to report three "facts" about themselves, two true and one false.)

I was pregnant with Daughter in 1975, in St. Louis, Missouri. I was 30 years old. I'd had three prior miscarriages and one late term stillbirth, and when I got into the seventh month with this pregnancy and realized this one might really go all the way, I decided I wanted an absolutely natural birth. No meds. No "lines". No monitors. No strapping down. No artificially breaking the waters. No episiotomy. No nothing!

Lamaze was big on the coasts, but in the middle states, it hadn't caught on yet. We had the best obstetrical team in the county, but when they shrugged and patted me on the head and said, "Well, you can try if you want, but...", I went doctor shopping. One after another discouraged me. Most male doctors acted like it was THEIR baby, and they were going to "deliver" it, and if there was some way they could figure out how to do it without me there, they'd prefer that. I really think they frightened women to the point where the women tensed so much they needed the drugs, then they drugged them to "get rid of the women" during the birth.

I finally found Dr. M., an Indian woman (complete with sari) who, when I described what I wanted and asked if it was possible, shrugged and said "Of course. I had my own four that way."

I went to the Lamaze classes, but all that silly panting and hooting turned me off. I had learned self hypnosis during the year of the double tic doloreaux, and decided that was the way to go - to find a bright light as a focus point, and pour myself out of my body and into that point. I also learned and practiced relaxing every part of my body, every muscle except across the top of the stomach. I got very good at it. I also practiced hyperventilating and then holding my breath while totally relaxed and "out of body", and tightening and relaxing that one pushing muscle. Ex#2 timed me several times, and he says I often went 6 minutes without breathing.

When the time came, I didn't know I was in labor at first, because the contractions never settled into any rhythm. They were all over the place, a cluster, then nothing for a while, and I thought it was just cramps. From the time that they got insistent enough that I decided it must be labor and went to the hospital, until Daughter was born, was only two hours.

Everything went exactly as I had wanted. Dr. M. did a perineal massage, but other than that, nobody touched me. Daughter got a 10 Apgar, even though we later discovered that she had a hole in her heart, between the ventricles. (It closed on its own when she was 9 months old.)

During and between the two big delivery pushes, the doctor told me that I had held my breath for over five minutes, and both my heart rate and blood pressure (the only monitors allowed) had dropped during delivery. I credit the total relaxation and self hypnosis ... and that everyone kept their hands off me and let me do my job.

(That guy who recently tried to break the record for breath holding was under enormous stress while doing it. He was burning oxygen and making carbon dioxide at a high rate. I wasn't. Total relaxation makes all the difference.)

693 True Fact #3 - Manhunt

Monday, May 14, 2006

(Daughter - you already know this story. You can skip this.)

During high school, 1959-1962, I lived on an Air Force base (a SAGE base, for those who know) on top of a mountain in the middle of state game lands in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but forests and bears and vipers all around. My father was the base commander.

There was a strong fence around the base itself, like a prison fence, topped with razor wire. The family housing, baseball field, rifle range, and other support structures were outside that fence, and then there was another fence around the outer perimeter of the government property, sort of like a cattle fence. Just three strands of barbed wire.

Alerts were a frequent occurrence. Some were just exercises, but some were serious, when "something was going on" somewhere in the world. During an alert, airmen were stationed around the base and along both fences. Depending on the level of alert, they may or may not have had ammunition.

That summer was very tense. Some weirdo had tried to bust through the gate onto base, and the APs had shot out his tires to stop him. There had been several red alerts of two or three days duration, and then one day two men who claimed to be officers from Wright-Patterson had tried to get on base (to get the equipment for the sailboat the AF kept on a nearby lake), but their paperwork was suspicious. The APs at the gate detained them, searched their car, and found explosives in the trunk.

My father interrogated them, and finally found that they had their real ids taped to their stomachs. They were from headquarters and were going to plant bombs around the base near the radar towers, and then call and say "Go look at the north wall of the height-finder tower...". It was a test, and the base passed. It was the year before the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the international situation was already tense.

Shortly after that incident, another red alert was called. The men were deployed, and fully armed. This one was unusual in several ways. For one thing, it went on for something like two weeks. During other alerts, civilian family members had been allowed to drive in and out through the outer gate. The school bus, for example, was not allowed in, but we kids had been allowed to walk out to meet the bus on the highway. This time, not only was absolutely no one allowed on or off the base, but we in the family compound were told not to leave our houses.

After a week or so in a tiny house with four younger squabbling siblings, I was going crazy. I decided to go for a walk in the woods. I knew a spot in the swampy area below the houses where there were no guards on the outer fence. Nobody wanted to stand there (it was full of snakes - including rattlers and copperheads), so the guys assigned there tended to shift left and right, leaving an unguarded space. My German Shepherd, Sparky, and I could get through undetected. We'd walk in the woods around the base, and then come back through the same spot we went out.

We did just that.

The woods were old growth. There was very little undergrowth once you got past the edge of the cleared government property, so it was easy walking. I let Sparky off the leash, and he scouted ahead and around me, 300' or so out from me, but he always kept coming back to check on me. The day was still, and the woods were silent. We walked on a carpet of hundreds of years of fallen leaves and pine needles.

We had been out about 2 hours, and were about 3/4 the way around the base, when Sparky, who was walking next to me as we climbed a hill, suddenly stiffened and growled. I looked up to see what bothered him, and --- it was like a scene in a movie. Silhouetted against the sky, at the top of the hill, were men with guns, pointed at me. In the center was a lieutenant, standing with his legs spread, and his hands on his hips. He said, "Who the Hell are you?!"

They surrounded me. Sparky growled, he wasn't going to let anyone get near me. One of the airmen suggested shooting Sparky if he attacked, but another said, "Uh, I think that's [the commander]'s daughter. Don't shoot his dog." The lieutenant mulled that over, and said, "I don't care who she might be. We do this by the book."

They made me tie Sparky's leash around his muzzle and then hold him by the collar as they marched me back to the base. There were three or four guys on either side of me, and they kept the guns pointed at me.

What I didn't know until later was that sentries had seen had seen Sparky as he ranged close to the edge of the woods, and had thought they had seen glimpses of human movement. They had been shouting "Halt, who goes there" and all that happy hoopla, and getting no response. Reports had been coming in from sentries all along the perimeter of "man or men in the woods", and "police dog or dogs in the woods". The idea of dogs for some reason scared them more than human attackers. At least ten sentries reported activity of some kind, around the entire perimeter. Most reported having seen "police dogs" (plural). As the reports went back and forth, more men thought they saw and heard more activity.

Suddenly it sounded like the base was under attack by an army of men and dogs. Headquarters denied any knowledge of any such exercise. Patrols were sent out to locate and ... whatever. All I know is that they were fully armed and fully scared, and had been told to shoot anyone who didn't cooperate. This was serious. These were guys whose entire military careers had been spent greasing motor pool vehicles or tending SAGE computers, and it was freak-out time. The Russians were coming!

The lieutenant radioed in that he had captured the intruder, and that it appeared to be the commander's daughter and dog.

I wasn't scared at all until we broke out of the woods at the far end of the athletic field, and I could see my father's car tearing down the road toward the baseball field. Then I got scared. He was going to kill me. Literally. I had embarrassed him big time in front of all his men, and possibly jeopardized his career. He could quite possibly beat me to death for this.

When the call from the lieutenant came in, my father had freaked. When he left his office, one of the other men called our house to warn my mother. Another officer's wife, Mrs M., happened to be there, and Mrs M. ran up the road to intercept my father. She flagged him down, and said, "Oh, What a terrific idea you had! Wonderful! What a great way to make sure the men stayed on their toes! I'll bet nobody will be sleeping on duty tonight! How did you ever think of this?"

She saved my life.

When my father met up with us, he said "Good work" to the men, and "Good job. Go home now" to me (Huh? Good job?). He never said anything else to me about it. But the next day I was in the Provost Marshall's office pointing out on maps where the open spaces were, where it was easy to get in and out. I told them I'd never heard anyone yell Halt or any other challenge. And I noted that the way they had marched me through the woods, in two lines on either side of me, if it had been necessary to shoot me, they'd have shot each other, too.

After the alert was finally over, there were groups of men at either end of the main road practicing shouting "Halt, who goes there" at each other at the top of their lungs. The guys assigned to the swamp were issued snake leggings. And everybody got a lesson in how to safely escort a prisoner.

692 True, False, True

Monday, May 14, 2006

See entry #685, wherein you were given three facts about me, two true and one false, and then were to detect the false claim. Here's the answers.

Fact 1: I once held my breath for over five minutes.

It's true. I really did. Story to follow pretty soon. (Later Update: The story is at "694 True Fact #1 - Holding Breath". )

Four people figured #1 is the lie.

Fact 2: When I was in college, I sold my hair to buy winter clothing every fall.

This is the lie. Readers of this journal may be aware that I had very little clothing in college - I went one Pennsylvania winter without a coat, just a rubberized poncho and a sweater. It is also true that my hair grew quickly then, about 1.5 inches a month (it grows about an inch a month now - I can tell by the dark roots). But my hair was very dry, and had not only split ends, but splits in the middle of the shaft. Nobody would buy it. However, as proof that it was possible, I had a friend in the dorm who really did do it. She started college with hair down to her tailbone, and sold a bit over a foot every fall to buy textbooks. This was the early 60s, wigs were fashionable, and they paid top dollar for real hair.

Seven people decided #2 was the lie, which surprised me. I thought it would easily be the most, not least, believable.

Fact 3: I was the subject of a military manhunt, orders to shoot on sight.

It's true. And when the patrol didn't kill me, I thought my father would. Details will follow, pretty soon. (Later Update: The story is at "693 True Fact #3 - Manhunt".)

Six people thought #3 was the lie.

So, as a group, you pegged me! Which is a surprise. I really thought y'all would buy my hair, even if no one else would....

691 Can't See the Links?

A few posts back I added links to many of the blogs and journals I read. It appears that if you are looking at an individual entry (like this one, for instance) you won't see the list of links on the right. Very odd. I don't know how to change that. To see the list, you have to be looking at the "main page" - that's the one you get if you click the page title up there at the top.

690 Flattering? Only a little it is.

You are Yoda

Yoda 77% Obi-Wan Kenobi 76% Padme 76% Princess Leia 71% R2-D2 71% Qui-Gon Jinn 65% Luke Skywalker 55% An Ewok 53% Han Solo 53% Boba Fett 52%	Wise and all knowing you are…yes. Tall, dark, and handsome? Not so much I'd say.
(This list displays the top 10 results out of a possible 21 characters.) Click here to take the "Which Star Wars character are you?" quiz...

689 Mothers' Day Offering

Sunday, May 14, 2006

I lifted this from Linda's World. This was the second entry in her journal, Mothers' Day 2005.

"Mom's Special Brownies"

Remove teddy bear from oven and preheat oven to 375.
Melt 1 cup margarine in saucepan.
Remove teddy bear from oven and tell Jr., "No, no."
Add margarine to 2 cups sugar.
Take shortening can away from Jr. and clean cupboards.
Measure 1/3 cup cocoa.
Take shortening can away from Jr. again and bathe cat.
Apply antiseptic and bandages to scratches sustained while removing shortening from cat's tail.
Assemble 4 eggs, 2 tsp. vanilla, and 1-1/2 cups sifted flour.

Take smoldering teddy bear from oven and open all doors and windows for ventilation.

Take telephone away from Billy and assure party on the line the call was a mistake. Call operator and attempt to have direct dialed call removed from bill.

Measure 1 tsp. salt, 1/2 cup nuts and beat all ingredients well.
Let cat out of refrigerator.
Pour mixture into well-greased 9x13-inch pan.
Bake 25 minutes.
Rescue cat and take razor away from Billy.
Explain to kids that you have no idea if shaved cats will sunburn. Throw cat outside while there's still time and he's still able to run away.

FROSTING Mix the following in saucepan:
1 cup sugar
1 oz unsweetened chocolate
1/4 cup margarine Take the darn teddy bear out of the broiler and throw it away -- far away.

Answer the door and meekly explain to nice policeman that you didn't know Jr. had slipped out of the house and was heading for the street.
Put Jr. in playpen.

Add 1/3 cup milk, dash of salt, and boil, stirring constantly for 2 minutes.

Answer door and apologize to neighbor for Billy having stuck a garden hose in man's front door mail slot. Promise to pay for ruined carpet.

Tie Billy to clothesline.

Remove burned brownies from oven.

Collapse and call the baker for delivery.

Pastor Tim's CleanLaugh List

688 Saturday Apple Blossoms

Today was the Apple Blossom Festival in the village. They should call it the Lilac and Wild Onion Festival. The whole village smells of blooming lilacs, and since everyone mowed the lawns to look nice for a town full of visitors, there were undertones of wild onion/chive. Fresh-mown onion is one of those scents that says "Spring" to me.

I got quite a bit of walking in today, checking out all the booths and stores. I was a little disappointed that the library didn't have their usual used book sale, but it had rained in the morning and the afternoon sun wasn't trustworthy (although it is still beautiful out), so I understand why not. And being in "throwing out" mode, I really didn't need the temptation anyway.

687 My Ignorance, Too

Read this: http://www.bigpharaoh.com/2006/05/12/ali-and-my-ignorance/

It's very much what I tried to tell people back when it all started, and everyone said I was ignorant then, too. You cannot ignore history. You can't remake a culture just because you want to. Unlike, say, Egypt or Saudi Arabia, Iraq is in large part still a tribal culture. You have what you have won and what you are strong enough to keep. There are certain ways that things have been done, that disputes have been settled, for thousands of years, and they aren't going to change overnight.

The Americans pulled the cork. They let the genie out of the bottle, and he's not going back in until someone comes along strong enough to pound a few heads and threaten to remove a few more.

686 Back to the Museum

I went to the Maritime Museum this afternoon for my weekly volunteer stint. The coordinator had called me the other day and asked if I could make up some notebooks for them with information about other touristy stuff in the Rondout, because visitors are always asking, so I was supposed to just pick up a list of places today, and then do the research at home. But when I got there, the woman who was supposed to be in the gift shop hadn't come in, so I ended up running the shop.

The cash register is all fancy and computerized. There's an instruction sheet someone had written up, and I figured that out ok, but something struck me as odd. Sales tax on the t-shirts is 4%, and tax on other items is 8%, no tax on museum admission or memberships. But --- when you sell something taxable, there's just one button you push, and "it adds the tax on". How does it know whether it's a t-shirt or not? When my relief arrived, I asked her, and she said no one had reprogrammed the register when the clothing tax was lowered, so it still charges 8% for everything.

Um, is that legal?

Update on the ice boats I mentioned in an earlier entry - the "Icicle", once owned by the Roosevelts, is on display inside. It's LONG! Much longer than the one they had outside last week. The film about the Hudson River that they run constantly in the theater does say that it had been clocked at 100 mph. So Russ was right.

685 Weekend Assignment #111: Two Out of Three

John Scalzi, of By The Way... has issued the following challenge:

"Weekend Assignment: Present three "facts" about yourself: Two of the facts true, and one of the facts false. Let people guess which "fact" is the fake one. Reveal the fake fact on Monday. You don't want to give away the fake fact too early, so be sure to make it sound plausible, next to the other two real facts. Extra Credit: Can you lie with a straight face? Really?"

Later Update: The answer and the vote counts are at post "692 True, False, True". The stories that go with the true facts are at "693 True Fact #3 - Manhunt", and "694 True Fact #1 - Holding Breath".

Fact 1: That guy who tried to break the breath-holding record reminded me of this. I once held my breath for over five minutes, witnessed and timed by a medical doctor.

Fact 2: My hair grows very quickly. When I was in college, I sold my hair to buy winter clothing every fall of the last three years. My roommates were happy about it, because I shed a lot, and they were tired of finding long hair in and on everything.

Fact 3: In my teens I almost got shot as a spy. I was the subject of a military manhunt, orders to shoot on sight, and ended up arrested by seven very nervous airmen with loaded guns.

Ok. Which one is not true? Scalzi said to "be sure to make it sound plausible, next to the other two real facts". Instead of making them all sound equally plausible, they all sound equally implausible!

Extra Credit: No, I can't lie with a straight face. Well, maybe with a straight face, but I can't look the person I'm lying to in the face. My eyes kind of slide down and to the side. It's so bad that even if I'm telling the absolute truth, if I'm sure the other person won't believe me, I can't look them in the eye. So people are often convinced I'm lying when I'm not.

When you've lived a life like mine, there are a lot of unbelievable stories. A lot of eye sliding. Sigh. I don't tell the most outrageous but true stories any more.

684 Thursday

Thursday, May 11, 2006

I had a good time at Trivia last night. It was just Tom and me, but we had a very respectable showing nonetheless. My biggest problem in the past has been that I'm not fast enough on the buttons as the points tick down. I sit there with five fingers poised, touching the five buttons representing the five possible answers, and I still can't pick the right answer number and press it before anyone else.

I think I've found the solution. With just Tom and me, there wasn't that feeling of intense competition, so I ordered FOOD! Finger food. Spicy chicken wings, with celery and bleu cheese dip. And other stuff. They got ooooowoooo good stuff there. Which meant that when a question flashed, I had to real quick suck on my finger then push the button. For some crazy reason it was faster! Maybe because I was using just my index finger, so didn't have to choose an answer AND choose the proper finger. I got lots of 1000 pointers, and actually beat or tied Tom on half the games. And Tom's good!

As you will have gathered by now, Fishkill didn't show. I'm not surprised. I got an email from him this morning apologizing for standing me up, saying that after the dance lessons he was tired, and he decided to go to bed early. No suggestion for another time. I have not responded. There's something going on in his head that I choose not to get entangled in. Let him sort it out and decide what he's going to do or not do. I really don't care (so far he's failing to impress me), but I'm not going to let him know that. Let him think I'm angry.

On the other hand, I wore a blouse last night just for Fishkill that made it difficult for Tom to look me in the eye (yeah, Tom, I caught you looking), and now I have to wash the damn thing. What a waste of a wearing. THAT ticks me off.

683 Favorite Reads

Thursday, May 11, 2006

There are a lot of sites that I read regularly. I decided today to list most of them, over there on the right, under "Links". (If y'all find yourself linked and don't want to be, comment, and I'll remove it immediately (and I won't publish the comment)).

I wasn't able to list all of my favorites because some are private journals, like those from Russ, Remo, The Gypsy, and a few others. I'd love to link the-leading-candidate-for-son-in-law's website, and Daughter's business page, but it would be dangerous - Daughter would kill me.

Some sites I have chosen for the news. Some for the beauty of the writing. Some for the giggles, and some for the insights. Just because a site is listed doesn't mean it's wonderful (although most are). Some are there because reading them, I can't help thinking "This person is going to implode any minute!", so, like watching a car race and waiting for the flaming crash, I'm afraid to look away.

All of them are rounder and deeper than mine. I'm not writing for readers. However, some of my very favorites aren't writing for readers, either, and they are still so very interesting and thought-provoking. I'd love to point you directly to the best one, but I'm not sure she really wants to be noticed.

Too much notice can make one self-conscious.

If you skim through some of the links, you'll see where my mind is a lot of the time. Reading my journal, it's easy to get the impression that I spend a lot of time on a mental highway, looking neither left nor right, fussing over trivia like whether my feet are too cold or too hot. This journal is only a diary, for me to look back and see where I was and what I was doing. In reality, I AM looking left and right off the highway, and I do see the scenery, the sights, the sites, and I think about things I read. I just don't write about it here.

Welcome to the rest of my world.

682 Wednesday

Roman tutored Piper yesterday afternoon, then came here for dinner. I made apricot chicken, yellow rice, and broccoli. He brought his new laptop and we watched the Stomp DVD on it. Then I chased him out before 8. He had three classes Monday, and a full schedule this week, so I know he needs time at home. I'm even surprised he came here with time so tight, but on the other hand, we seem to be getting along so well lately, I don't know.

My lawn finally got mowed today, first time this year. I'm glad. It was starting to look really bad. I was beginning to think that the Hairless Hunk was punishing me for hiring someone else for the roof.

I'll be going to Poughkeepsie this evening for trivia (NTN, I think?) with Tom. Fishkill has a dance lesson tonight, but he says if he gets finished soon enough, he'll join us. I hope he does. If he doesn't show tonight, I'll have to write him off. Too bad - he's good looking and smart, but he may have some trouble following up on things. He seems to either want to keep me dangling, in reserve so to speak, or he wants to brush me off and doesn't know how.

Off to the machines. Exercise! I'm gonna get lookin' so good all these idiot men will be sorry they didn't snap me right up when they had a chance!!!!

681 Flippin' IQ Test - 2

Well, turns out that the IQ test mentioned in the previous entry is a joke. When you take it, you are given a score (which may or may not have anything to do with your answers) and a graphic showing that score which you can post in your journal. However, the test writer has planted a cookie that shows you the high score, but shows everyone else who looks at your journal a LOW score. Cool, huh? You can read the whole story, and the reactions of other test-takers here: http://triggur.livejournal.com/155904.html

I agree with a lot of what Triggur says about IQ tests. As a member of Mensa for more than 30 years, I am exceedingly aware that a high IQ score does not correlate to smarts, success, ability, or common sense. It simply means that a high scorer sees patterns more clearly than most. Period. That means that high scorers often enjoy puzzles and words more than most. Period. Some (actually, now that I think about it, all) of the biggest idiots I have ever met I've met in Mensa.

Mensa serves a purpose in that it's a social group where puzzle people can play with other puzzle people, and that's pretty much all it is meant to be. I get annoyed with Mensans who seem to think they're better or "smarter" than others. The more they seem to be dissatisfied with and disappointed in their own lives, the more they look down on non-members.

If you've been reading this journal for any length of time, you already know all of that.

By the way, you can't compare scores from different IQ tests. Beyond a certain point, the standard deviation, um, diverges. For example, a 145 on the California Test of Mental Maturity is a lot higher than a 158 on the Stanford Binet. That's why Mensa and most other groups go by percentile.

----------------------------------------
Daughter helped me with that one question that confused me. She asked me to describe it over the phone. I said it starts with the back-to-back "C"s. She said, "Mother, listen to what you just said. What's the next figure?" Me, "Looks like back-to-back 'D's. Oh crap! Then back-to-back 'E's. Yup. Ok. Got it."

Sheesh.

680 Flippin' IQ Test

I took this test and swore all the way through it. It kept timing out trying to contact the site, but once I'd made it through 12 of the 25 questions, I was too stubborn to give up. It's probably timing out because half the journaling community is probably taking it now.

I give this mini-test a "B+", because the questions were typical of those you find on standardized IQ tests, and unlike most online tests, it didn't top out at 135 (although it may have topped out at 157. I wish I knew.) It didn't get an "A" because at least two of the questions required knowledge as opposed to reasoning ability.

Some of the questions were very difficult. If you try it, I'd love to know what your answer was for the "completes the series" one that starts with the back-to-back "C"s and ends with the upsidedown "T". That one really blew my mind. I copied it down, and I'm still fussing over it.

For several of the questions, one of the diagrams wouldn't show (and trying to display it with the right mouse button got timeouts), so if none of the other choices was the right answer, I just shrugged and chose that one.

679 I Am Such an Idiot!

Sunday, May 7, 2006

I've been freezing off and on for the past five days because I didn't want to go through all the gyrations to switch back to the oil furnace when I'd just have to do it all again in a few more days. I just remembered that the heat pump I'm using for air conditioning has backup electric heat! All I have to do is flip ONE switch on the thermostat.

Now excuse me while I go stand in front of a vent.

678 Regrets

Sunday, May 7, 2006

I have been asked, "If you knew you would die tomorrow, what would you regret?"

I haven't put a lot of thought into it, but right off the bat I'd regret that my house and papers and "affairs" are not in order for Daughter to handle. I'm working on it, but slowly.

Going back a ways, I regret that had I worked such long hours when Daughter was in her teens. I wish I hadn't been sucked into The Company line. I wish I had spent more time with her, that we had done more together, that I had known her friends well and had them over to the house.

I regret that I had allowed Tom N. to edge out Obie, when I knew Obie was a sweetheart, and Tom N. was an ass. We kept in touch until he died, but I wish I'd been able to keep Obie closer in my life.

I regret that I married Bob just because he wanted to, when I knew it couldn't possibly last, and I walked down the aisle thinking "Oh, well, I can always get a divorce." It wasn't that easy.

I regret that I left teaching. I loved teaching. I loved my kids. I hated every minute with The Company.

I regret that I stayed so long with Paul. I don't regret marrying him, that was at least for the right reasons, but when it was obvious it was bad for both of us, I shouldn't have stubbornly kept trying to rescue it. That was pride.

I regret that I didn't flirt with Roman back in 2002. I noticed him and liked him a lot then, even then I liked hugging him, felt warm in his arms, and I now know he wanted me then, but I thought he was still solidly married. I didn't give him any encouragement. I would have, had I known. Can I regret something someone else did? I regret that he didn't tell me he was separating. I regret that he didn't come to me until the divorce was final, and by then he was emotionally embroiled with someone else, and that's still going on.

On the other hand, if I went back and fixed all those things, I'm sure other regretful things would have taken their place. If I hadn't married Bob, I suspect Obie and I might have married, and that would have spoiled a beautiful relationship. We'd have hated each other within five years. I think we both knew that at the time.

If I had spent more time with Daughter, there's a very good chance I'd have interfered more. Her personality would have chafed under that. She'd have a lot more resentment now and I'd get a lot more blame.

If I had left Paul sooner, I might never have gotten strong. It was having to take control of my life and my future and realizing that what I had been doing wasn't working that made me get help, and made me grow into myself. So if I had not married him, or if I had given up sooner, I'd probably have just repeated all the old mistakes for a lot longer.

So, I guess I can't really regret much. It's just the way it was, and maybe the way it had to be.

Except the "affairs" not being in order. I'm working on that.

678 My Hair Is Strange

Sunday, May 7, 2006

There are men on the roof again today, four of them. They're removing the shingles from the back half, and making a lot of noise. Miss Thunderfoot has glued herself to my ankle (Mommy! Mommy! There are huge rats in the attic, and they're scaring me!)

It's pretty cold in the house. It got down to 60 overnight, and is just 63 now. There's not enough sun to warm things up, which is bad for me, but good for the roofers, I guess. I may have to give in and switch back to heat, or at least throw some logs in the fireplace. The air conditioning hasn't gone on since last Tuesday, when I made the switch. (Oops - just realized the roofers might not appreciate wood smoke pouring out of the chimney, which is in the middle of where they're working. Ok. Scratch that idea.)

My hair is getting weird. Before Jay got sick, it was medium-dark reddish brown with a quarter-sized white patch right on the top of my head (which I often dyed to blend) that I'd had since my early twenties. Just before he got sick (when I was 53), I started growing some scattered white, and then during his illness, it suddenly went almost completely white in a wide band from the top of my ears to the temples and around the back of my head. The lower back and the very top of my head stayed brown with gray. It looked strange. So I started lightening the top, using the palest blond hair dye I could find. It blended in nicely.

It continued to turn, until finally there's just a small dark patch right at the front top. Sorta like Jay Leno's dark patch. (The lower back is still darker, too, by now it's dark gray, but that looks ok.) Most of the rest of the top of my head was almost white.

I was looking forward to the dark patch getting smaller and lighter, and then I could finally stop touching up the roots.

But the strangest thing is happening.

This past year, the whole top of my head is gradually getting darker! And it seems to be spreading back across the crown and the back of my head. When I look closely, it looks like blackish hairs are multiplying and mixing with the white and the few remaining brown. Used to be I could mix up a few tablespoons of the dye and touch up the roots when they got an inch and a half long. Until then, the difference wasn't very obvious - it blended and looked like just a trick of the light or something. Now, suddenly, a half inch of root looks terrible. I have to touch up every two weeks.

I vaguely remember that ingesting some metals can cause hair to change color, but I haven't been exposed to anything unusual, and haven't eaten anything unusual. Certainly not on an ongoing basis. About the only thing that's changed in the past year is my weight and activity level, and ... um ... sex life.

Can that do it?

Am I getting younger?

And what on earth can I do with this hair!

677 Pushups

A friend, who is in her mid-30s, and whom I consider in terrific shape, mentioned pushups in her journal. I haven't done pushups in years. In my 30s, I used to be able to do 50 full-body pushups in a row (of course, I weighed a lot less then, too). I got curious.

She said that she had heard that a 30-year-old woman should be able to do 35, and you subtract 5 for each decade older. So I, in my 60s, should be able to do 20 (40s=30, 50s=25, 60s=20), right?

I dropped and did 20. First time in probably a decade or more. From the toes. Not quite with Marine-approved form - my middle (the heaviest part) tends to sag a bit, and I go flat to the floor between each, but I didn't pause between them and I was straight at the top of the lift. And I'll admit the last three were a bit difficult, but I'll bet within a week (if I kept it up), I could fix that.

She says she does them on her knees. So after finishing the first 20 from the toes, I immediately did another 20 from the knees (straight body, no butt-in-the-air), just to see if it was easier. Oddly enough, again the last three were a strain.

I really surprised myself. I'll bet it's those machines.

And now, of course, my lower back hurts. But my pecs don't.

676 Missing Comments?

I apologize to anyone who left a comment that seems to have disappeared. I moderate comments, because there are a lot of spam comments on Blogger. That means I get an email containing the comment text with links to accept or reject it. When they go to my regular id and folder, I approve the "real" ones within hours.

However,
... Yahoo has been screwing up lately. I've heard that many "Yahoo Groups" are not getting messages posted, and today I found a few Blogger comment emails in the spam folder. I accepted them, and you'll find them posted now, but I have no idea whether any completely disappeared (aged out), because I haven't been checking the spam folder regularly. I don't understand why they are suddenly being considered spam.

Sorry. I'll pay more attention to the spam folder until the Yahoo world rights itself again.

675 How My Brain Works

Your brain: 20% interpersonal, 140% visual, 100% verbal, and 140% mathematical!

Congratulations on being 400% smart! Actually, on my test, everyone is. The above score breaks down what kind of thinking you most enjoy doing. A score above 100% means you use that kind of thinking more than average, and a score below 100% means you use it less. It says nothing about how good you are at any one, just how interested you are in each, relatively. A substantial difference in scores between two people means, conclusively, that they are different kinds of thinkers.

Matching Summary: Each of us has different tastes. Still, I offer the following advice, which I think is obvious:

1. Don't date someone if your interpersonal percentages differ by more than 80%.
2. Don't be friends with someone if your verbal percentages differ by more than 100%.
3. Don't have sex with someone if their math percentage is over 200%.

Link: The 4-Variable IQ Test written by chriscoyne on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

674 Museum Open House

Daughter - covered in our phone call, so no need to read further.

The Maritime Museum start-of-season open house was this evening, so I went in this afternoon, figuring that there would be some last-minute things to be done. I made "place cards" for the restaurants who donated food, located trash cans and plastic liners and distributed them around the grounds, put price tags on some things and labeled shelves in the gift shop, and some other stuff. I also stood guard over the big ice boat out in the yard for a bit.

I had looked at the ice boat in storage last week, and Russ had told me it could do 100 mph. The guys who rigged it today were experienced, from an ice boat club, so I asked them, and they said this particular one might make 75 (it's very old and made of mahogany, with sailboat-style sails), but the new carbon ones "with razor sails" easily do 140 mph. I said "How, when the wind isn't that fast?", and they said that the faster you go into the wind, the faster the wind is hitting you, so your speed increases almost exponentially. Cool.

At one time, there were lots of ice boats on the Hudson. But now, the river doesn't freeze smoothly enough, and there are ice cutters keeping shipping lanes open and throwing blocks of ice around, so ice boats don't rule the winter any more. If you've never seen an ice boat, they are beautiful - long and narrow and spare, a ballerina, a damselfly with a lot of sail, and they just plain LOOK fast. The first time I'd ever seen one, someone asked me, "What's that?", and I answered, "I don't know, but I'll bet it's FAST!"

The Open House was pretty good. Eleven restaurants from the Rondout donated specialties, there was wine and beer and soda, a jazz band, the mayor spoke, and there was supposed to be some big Coast Guard boats tying up (I left early, after the food and the speeches - the Coast Guard may have arrived after I left).

I'm tired.

#673 Assessment

I just got a call from Piper. He's very upset about the way the town has raised property assessments. He gave me a town-owned website where one can put in any address and find out all kinds of tax data on properties. He said that they raised assessments "10% across the board". I didn't tell him, but mine went up only 5%. (As an "elderly" widow, I also get an automatic small discount on the tax rate.) Maybe I should keep quiet on Grievance Day.

But I still intend to do the research.

Dinner with Roman tonight.

#672 100 Things About Me

There's a meme going around where you are to list 100 things about yourself. It's not as easy as it sounds.

1. I was born in Scranton, Pa.
2. I will be 62 years old next October
3. I feel 37 years old
4. Until I was 7, my family moved every few weeks (military)
5. Until I was 17, my family moved every 1-2.5 years
6. I didn't develop youthful social skills because there seemed to be no point, just pain
   
7. I am the eldest of five, I have two brothers and two sisters
8. I feel guilty because I am not much in contact with my siblings
9. I feel guilty because my youngest sister died in her early 40s of alcoholism
10. I feel guilty because my youngest brother is likely to die of a drug overdose
11. I am afraid of the other brother
12. I avoid contact with my siblings because the feelings are too strong
13. Although I'm sure she must have at some time, I cannot remember my mother ever touching me
14. I avoid hugging
15. I crave hugs
    
16. I graduated from a tiny high school on a mountain, most of my classmates had outhouses
17. Within a year of graduation, 40% of the boys in my class asked me to marry them
18. My mother had to cosign my first teaching contract because I was still a minor
19. I've had several repeating dreams that have later come true, down to the details
20. I am afraid of repeating dreams
21. I am afraid of spiders
22. I am not afraid of any other insects or animals
23. I love mice
24. I love toads
    
25. I have a fox den in my front yard
26. I sleep halfway on my stomach and halfway on my side
27. I have an extremely high pain threshold, the "sternum rub" consciousness test doesn't work on me
28. I am extremely conscious of pain, because I can't tell how serious it is
29. I have fibromyalgia - I always have pain somewhere
    
30. My anger is brief, but violent
31. My love is forever, and passionate
32. I know that #30 and 31 sometimes scare people, but I don't care
33. I want to understand everything, which sometimes frustrates people close to me
34. I often feel like I understand nothing, which frustrates me
35. Psychoanalysis saved my life
36. I almost always score 99.5%ile or above on standardized tests, on almost any subject
37. ...including IQ tests
38. I believe in fairies
39. I am serious about #38
40. I like nerds
    
41. There are only two men that I believe knew the real me, and really truly loved me, and they both died young, one at age 32, the other at 49
    
42. I lost four babies - three miscarried and one near-term stillborn after an apartment fire - before having Daughter at 31.
43. I've had three husbands, two ex and one late
44. I believe I will marry five times
45. I won't tell you why I believe that, but I do
    
46. I am afraid to marry a fourth for love
47. I collect teapots
48. I collect buttons
49. I collect dust bunnies
50. I own about 5,000 books
51. I haven't had a bad cold in three years, maybe longer
    
52. I am an excellent craftsman
53. I have little creativity
54. I have many skills
55. I have no talents
56. I can't dance well - no sense of rhythm
57. Amadeo and I once cleared a dance floor in New Haven doing a fancy cha-cha
58. Ruby, Jeannie, and I often enthralled the audience at the 6-15 club doing the Charleston
59. I can't dance, but I can fake it well
60. I love the sound of bells, especially carillons
    
61. I own 7 different types of musical instruments, and can't play any of them
62. My feet are always odiferous, even though there's nothing wrong, and even when I wear sandals all day
63. My plans always outstrip my abilities or capacity or interest
    
64. I hate being cold
65. I don't mind heat
66. I love hard cloudbursts when the sun is still shining through - I go out and play in the rain, even now
    
67. I love when the sun is low but strong, so it lights leaves from underneath, and the air turns green and gold
68. I don't like drizzle
69. I read, or work crosswords or logic puzzles before falling asleep
70. I often end up sleeping with the light on
71. I prefer the freedom of a hotel to staying with friends or family, or even B&Bs, when I travel
72. I can't cook
73. I am very good at research
74. I have a learning disability - I can't internalize the concept of "left" and "right"
75. Marijuana makes #74 worse - to where I get seasick
76. Yeah, I tried it - once, in the late 70's - and now I am so sensitive to it I get dizzy at the first whiff
77. I can't remember names - people, places, flowers, bands, books, whatever
78. I have been catless for only one short period since 1958
79. All of my leukemia-free cats have lived into their twenties
80. I don't mind being short
81. ... but I wish my legs were longer
82. I am very strong, and not just physically
83. I am very sexual, sensual, and sensuous
    
84. I tend to be very naive
85. There's a large gap between my emotions and my intellect - maybe not a gap, maybe a wall
    
86. I think #85 is a good thing
87. I enjoy complicated crewel embroidery
88. I am slightly ashamed that I enjoy embroidering
89. I dislike spectator sports - I don't see any point to it
90. I like equestrian spectator sports, even though there is no point
91. I like strong drums, heavy rhythms, the thump in the chest
    
92. I tear up when I watch marching bands in parades, especially kids doing it well
93. I'm not patriotic
94. I enjoy watching someone do something well, from dancing to teaching to sculpting, anything
95. I refuse to fight over anything less than a life/death matter, I give in because it isn't worth it
96. I prefer not to take responsibility for anything other than myself
97. I have difficulty asking strangers personal questions
98. When I do ask questions, they are frequently probing questions, the recipient gets defensive, and I come off as sarcastic, or trying to trap them
    
99. I am afraid of sounding sarcastic
100. I love.
     

#671

I made the switch from heat to air conditioning yesterday evening. I had some windows open, but there was no breeze, and the furnace hadn't gone on in days, and it was nudging 80 in the kitchen, and I was cooking, so I thought it was time. Big mistake. I'm freezing today. I'm trying to resist switching back because it's supposed to get into the 70s tomorrow (and because it's a pain), which means into the 80s in the house. Maybe I'll just go to bed early and sleep late.

The van got its new sensor this morning (free!), and I took the bubble wrap and a magazine rack/table to the Elmendorph, and a huge load of Jay's clothing to the Salvation Army. That was weird - I had filled out the receipt form in detail, and they signed it, but no one made any effort to ensure that my list had any connection to what I actually dropped off. Given what was on that list, I might have some trouble convincing the IRS it's for real.

I think I'm going to be donating a lot of my clothes, too. I pulled out a pair of jeans this morning that I hadn't worn in a year, and they're huge. The crotch seam is literally 4 full inches below where it should be, and the front is so loose it flops when I walk. I can't believe they ever fit! I'm going to have to go through the closet and try on all my clothes.

Somebody has been calling and hanging up before the recorder starts, several times yesterday and today. Three times it was when I was just coming in the front door, and they hung up before I could get to the phone. Last evening I was worried that Fishkill might call while Roman was here, so I had turned the "screening volume" down, and when the phone rang (while we were eating dinner) I didn't answer. It must be someone who knows how many rings I have it set for, because they hang up right before the tape picks up, which also means it's probably not "spam". If it's anyone reading this, please leave a message. You're driving me crazy!

Something else that's driving me crazy - the tax assessment. They reassessed everybody last year, for the first time in about 10 years, and everybody's assessed value pretty much doubled. (But the amount of tax stayed the same. Except for some people who got hit really hard - Piper said his quadrupled.) Well, today I got a letter from the town - they've raised my assessment. They now value my house at $350,500. Huh? It's a ranch, three bedrooms, living room, kitchen, informal dining area, laundry room, 2.5 baths, fireplace, walk-out unfinished basement, 2-car garage, 1,700 square feet on 1.3 acres, on a dead-end street, in a rural area, with a well, septic tank, above-ground electric (as in "telephone poles") and NO other services. (It's also full of mice, spiders, moths, and possibly carpenter ants. Does that count for anything?) Grievance Day is May 23. That doesn't leave a lot of time for research. I need to find out what other comparable houses are assessed.

It's funny - all the neighbors seem to think this house is the largest on the street ("...oh, yeah, the real big house, with the daffodils..."). I'll say, "well, no, it's not that big", and what I get back is "Oh yes it is - I saw when they were building it". Well, hey, I live in it! There are several neighbors with at least as large a footprint AND a second story! Sheesh! Look at the flippin' satellite photos! A third of that roofline is garage! Sigh.

I don't understand.

(On the other hand, in my life I have lived in at least 14 houses before this one, and this house has by far the largest kitchen I've ever had, with the most counter and cabinet space. I will never again be happy with less. I'm officially forever spoiled. (Which isn't really true at all. I know what my priorities are, and I will happily trade "the big house" and the huge kitchen for something of greater value, should it ever be offered.))

#670 Pleasant / Mixed Tuesday

Up early again with man on roof, lunch with Piper and Vinnie, bank, grocery store (last Saturday they put my case of coffee yogurt out and it sold out before I got to it, so they were supposed to order another case for me for today, but they forgot, so now it's tomorrow, bleck), got home to find that the roofer had cut his finger terribly, his wife had come and bandaged it, she and I both think he should go to the hospital for stitches, Roman came to tutor Piper again and again was amazed at how little Piper had retained from the last lesson, I'm not surprised, I had told him to make sure Piper took good notes, I made spaghetti & meatballs with steamed asparagus for dinner with Roman, he even had seconds, a very nice evening, Roman hooked up my DVD player, but it needs some kind of modulator, which he'll bring next time he visits, all done, here I am.

Tomorrow early, van to second-choice garage to get sensor replaced, pick up yogurt, deliver donations to Elmendorph Inn and Salvation Army, maybe make it to the exercise machines.

Now, sleep.

#669

I tried defragmenting again. This time I closed everything but Explorer. "Ctrl/Alt/Delete" says only Explorer was running when I started the defragment job. Twelve hours later, it was still only 10% complete. It kept restarting again, claiming that the disk contents had changed. I give up. ("It USED to work!", she whines....)
I don't understand.

----------------------------------------

I was awakened this morning at 6:30 am by men stomping around on my roof. At about 6:50, an enormous truck arrived with the shingles. It used a crane to lift the pallets of shingles onto the roof, incidentally taking out a few tree branches and squashing driveway surface on the way.

The roofer had some bad news for me -- a tree branch was touching the roof in the back of the garage, and some carpenter ants had used it as a highway. They made a huge hole in the soffit. He said "I cleaned the nest out - got'em all I think." And he cut the branch down. Hmmmm. I think I'll talk to an exterminator pretty soon. Sigh. I really don't need more of this.

----------------------------------------

I delivered four bags of bubble wrap to a woman in Kingston this morning, and stowed three more bags in the van to go to the Elmendorph Inn Resale Shop when they open on Wednesday. On the way back from the woman's house, I stopped at the Salvation Army store to find out when I can donate stuff such that I can get a receipt. Then this afternoon I made a list and packed up Jay's sports coats and shirts that had been stored in the basement in movers' wardrobe boxes, ever since he'd moved here from Texas, and put them in the van to donate tomorrow or Wednesday.

There are three sports coats - one ordinary, one raw silk with leather elbow patches, and one hand-woven, hand-tailored in England, genuine Harris Tweed. All three had never been worn, still had the tags on them. When Jay was with his ex-wife, he used a special deodorant that left waxy deposits under the arms of his shirts, so it was easy to tell which shirts had been worn, and which had never been worn. I discarded the shirts with deposits. That left more than 35 never-worn shirts, about 3/4 are dress shirts. Do you believe it? I also added four windbreakers, all in excellent, possibly never-worn, condition.

While sorting out the windbreakers, I found Jay's old fraternity jacket (Pi Kappa Alpha, Carnegie Mellon). That one will go into a container of Jay's things that I can't bring myself to get rid of. I checked the pockets. There was a Kleenex in one pocket, and a Mars bar wrapper in the other. I had to sit down for a moment. Kleenex and chocolate wrappers were so very characteristic of Jay. He left trails of them everywhere.

This evening I will cut the buttons off the 15 or so discard shirts. For me, that's fun.

#668 Artsy Daughter

Back in early March, Roman and I had gone to a weekend Mensa regional gathering in New Jersey. Daughter joined us for Saturday evening. One of the activities that Daughter attended was a 1-hour painting workshop. After the talk, the attendees were instructed to paint a portrait of the person sitting at the table opposite them. Well, Daughter arrived at the room late, missed much of the talk, and was left with the rejects of the brushes.

The above is the painting she did of John, who sat opposite her. To fully appreciate this portrait, you need to know four things. 1) John was not sitting still. He was painting her at the same time. 2) The entire portrait is 4 inches high and 2.5 inches wide. 3) The brush Daughter used was one full inch wide! She painted using the corners of the brush. 4) John is immediately recognizable.

I think it's incredible.

This John guy was very interesting. A wee tad young for me, but interesting. I smelled testosterone. If I hadn't been there with Roman, I'd have flirted, and I don't know how to flirt, but I'd have tried. Daughter got his card, and I told her to hang onto it, I might want it later.

She discarded it.

I could kill her.

I'm KEEPING the painting! So there!

#667 Tooky Made Me Do It

You've heard of him. I couldn't resist him. I've dreamed of him. And here he is. I present -- TOOKY!




These are not photographs - they're from a flatbed scanner, so yeah, they're washed out, but hey! I think it worked pretty well, considering.

From the back of his head to the front of his teeth, he's 5 inches, from the top of his brow to under his chin he's 3.75 inches, and cheek to cheek across his grin he's 3 inches. He's got a lot of personality.

#666 The Devil Made Me Do It

Revelation 13:18. Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is six hundred threescore and six.

For anyone who doesn't know, 666, "the number of the beast", does not represent Satan, or any version of Satan. It represented a real person known to the author.

The ancient Romans, Greeks, and Jews often used letters of the alphabet to represent numbers. And words or names made up of these letters would have numerical value (today's version is numerology). Isaac Asimov, in Asimov's Guide to the Bible, explains that the writer of Revelation was apparently afraid to mention the name of the man he castigates, for fear perhaps of a charge of treason, so he refers to the man by the number his name represents. The person Isaac says most commentators mention as most likely is Neron Caesar (Greek version of Nero). Isaac likes Domitian better - a ruler who was in power at the time Revelation was written, and who heavily persecuted Christians. (Note - the "Antichrist'" means one who is against (anti) Christians.)

Just thought I'd best not write anything with this entry number that folks might misinterpret.

(And yes, I can refer to him as Isaac. I knew him personally. He thought I had "a great pair". As usual, he was right.)

#665 Tooky Dream

Saturday, April 29, 2006

Last Saturday, at the flea market, I had bought a hiking stick made from a hardwood sapling (mentioned in the April 22 entry). The top of the stick is the root knot which has been fashioned into an ugly beasty with googly eyes and a mouthful of real deer teeth. The guy who made it said its name is "Tooky".

The stick is almost 6 feet tall and the root knot is heavy, so to balance it for my grip, I'm going to have to shorten the stick by about a foot, so that when I hold it just below Tooky's head, my hand will be just below my shoulder level. I want to take it with me to Ricketts Glen.

Last night I had the strangest dream. I dreamt that Jay decided to shorten Tooky for me, but he didn't talk to me about it first. He came up from the basement with the stick, all pleased with what he'd done. He had cut too much off. He had shortened it to medical cane length -- Tooky's head was at hip level on me. I got very upset. No so much angry as frantic to think of some way to fix it, to make it long again. I ran through all the possibilities in my mind, glue, pegs, wrapped splints, added pipe, and as I had to reject each possibility as ugly or not strong enough, I got more and more upset. I awoke exactly at 3 am, in a panic, gasping for breath.

The big thing about Tooky is that he is absolutely unique. He's so ugly he's cute. There isn't and won't ever be another exactly like him.

I feel almost like it was a message. In life, Jay would never have done anything like that. He would absolutely have confirmed the length with me. So his having done something so uncharacteristic seems significant. Why does my mind have Jay doing it, as opposed to MY cutting it too short by mistake? Something else that strikes me is that, in my experience, Roman almost always wakes up and goes to the bathroom, or the kitchen for water, or gets on the computer, at 3 am. I don't see the connection, but I have a strong feeling it's there.

The dream must mean something. When I was driving to the grocery store this morning, I found myself still trying to find some way to fix Tooky (who, by the way, is still uncut and still tall, and doesn't need fixing). Whatever the REAL problem is, it's still there and unresolved.

#664 Nails

Saturday, April 29, 2006

Ok, Daughter, gotta tap into your education - what makes a light fixture kill bulbs? I'm getting tired of feeding the ceiling fixture in the den. These lights are on no more than some other lights elsewhere in the house, but the bulbs will burn out literally within a month. The fixture has three positionable metal "cans" that hang down (they look just like the cans on the old '70s pole lamps), and I put 60 watt bulbs in them. The first bulb will die within three or four weeks, and the third to die will usually go within 10 weeks. Do they get too hot or something? I'm thinking I may have to replace the fixture. This is ridiculous.

The roofers have been here, and have stripped the front half of the roof, and have applied some kind of tar paper-looking stuff, and the new shingles will be delivered Monday. I mentioned to the head honcho that I was worried about nails on the driveway, and he said no problem, they will clean up "real well." I asked if they use a magnet, and he said yes and showed me one on the side of the tool box.

After they left, I went out and patrolled the driveway myself. I picked up twelve nails and eight huge staples. Just lying there. Glinting in the sun. Right where I turn around and park.

The van is staying on the grass, 30 feet from the house, until they're completely finished!

I went to the grocery store today, and ran into Piper there. I was buying stuff to make spaghetti and meat balls, and Piper talked me into buying a special type of cheese to grate on top. It was very expensive, but he said it was worth it. Only later did the irony strike me -- my financial advisor urging me to buy cheese at $14 a pound.

#663 Love & Sex

Friday, April 28, 2006

I've been occasionally answering questions in here from The Book of Questions, by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.,Workman Publishing Company, Inc., and I had mentioned it to Roman, the context being that many of the questions seemed to apply to what he and I were going through at the moment I read them. I believe in coincidence as sometimes being meaningful. Someone had given him a similar book, The Book of Questions - Love & Sex, by the same author, and last Wednesday, Roman gave it to me.

I opened the book randomly, and read the first question I saw at the top of the page, and I said a bad word. He glanced over, raised eyebrows, and I showed him the question. We both burst into laughter.

The question was, "#83 Have you ever had a lover you wanted to break up with but keep as a friend? or perhaps as a casual sex partner?"

And he doesn't believe in coincidence. Pish!

---------------------------------

Fishkill called this evening, and we talked for about 40 minutes. He's busy tomorrow, and I'm not sure of my schedule this weekend (the roofers) so he's going to call again Sunday morning, and we'll get together, coffee and conversation, maybe lunch, sometime, somewhere, on Sunday.

#662 Painting

Friday, April 28, 2006

I went to the Maritime Museum today, and painted the end wall at the top of the stairs. I like painting walls.

The stepladder was scary. I guess it was safe, but it felt pretty wobbly, and I was standing on it at the top of a long flight of stairs, with a glass-paneled door on the side. My right thumb was pretty useless, because the very first thing I had done was run my thumb over the wood trim, and I got a huge splinter -- bled all over the place for a few minutes.

After I stopped bleeding, I washed the wall, then I taped all around the edges, spackled the holes and where the old paint had peeled, and sanded the spackled spots and the various lumps, bumps, and uneven areas. This all took longer than it should have, because I had to search the work and storage areas to find all the tools and materials I needed. I ended up applying the spackle with an artist's palette knife, but it actually was the perfect implement for small holes.

All that took about an hour and a half for a 10'x12' wall. But the more effort you put into prep, the faster the actual painting will go, and the better it will look in the end.

Then I looked at the paint. The paint Russ had told me to use last Tuesday wasn't exactly the same color as the other walls, but he figured it was close enough (a medium light blue). But when I held the lid, that had some dried paint on it, up to the wall, it looked like it would clash badly with the trim color (medium blue). Unfortunately, Russ and the other staff people had made a run to Staples, so I had to wait for them to come back. I'm not going to paint the wall without final approval on the color.

Russ agreed that the original color choice wouldn't work, and we ended up going with a cream. The actual painting didn't take long at all. Russ said that he appreciated my efforts to do a good job. "Most of the people we get to help just slap it up", which was pretty obvious from the different layers of paint smeared on the adjoining paneled wall and the trim.

It looks good. Looks like a new wall -- not easy in such an old building. And oddly, the cream blends well with the blue on the other walls. You almost don't notice it's a different color. It brightens the badly-lit stairwell.

I must have made 15 trips up and down the stairs (higher ceilings downstairs - long flight), most of those trips carrying stuff, including the stepladder, to and from the workshop at the very back corner of the building, so I don't feel bad about not "exercising" today. I hadn't taken anything to drink, and nobody offered anything, and by 5 pm I thought I'd die of thirst. Lesson learned.

I needed to get gas on the way home, and stop at the grocery store for my every-other-Friday case of yogurt, but there was an accident on the bridge access road, so traffic was terrible. When I finally got to the gas station, cars were lined up into the street. I had to go around another way to get past, which brought me out north of the grocery store, ... and I gave up and went home. I'll get gas and yogurt tomorrow.

Frankly, I'm beat.

#661 Piper Lunch, Van Return

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Dinner last night with Mensa, stayed over at Roman's. Lunch today with Piper and Vinnie. Catching up on blog-reading this afternoon. Maybe trivia tonight, maybe not, haven't decided yet. Still tired from last night.

I returned the rental car and picked up the van today. As of 3 pm second-choice garage still hadn't found out how they wanted to handle the warranty on the sensor, but I later got a call from them, they are willing to replace the sensor completely free of charge, NO labor cost. Whoop! I don't know how, but I won. Both first-choice garage and second-choice garage had said that I wouldn't get free labor no matter who replaced it, that labor is not covered by the warranty.

Second-choice garage will do it next Wednesday. So until then, I'll be driving the van with the "check engine" light on, but it shouldn't be a problem.

I hope.

#660 Quick Entry

The day got away from me again. I overslept a bit, then was awakened by the delivery of a BIG construction dumpster - they'll start stripping the roof on Saturday. I rushed into town because (again) I thought today was Thursday, and I had to meet Piper for lunch, but he wasn't in his office because (surprise!) today isn't Thursday.

So I went to the machines and exercised, got some few things cleaned up around the house, and now I have to shower again for dinner in LaGrange tonight. I doubt that I will have time to update until tomorrow. But, lunch with Piper tomorrow, maybe trivia with Tom tomorrow evening. Painting a wall at the museum Friday afternoon, so I'll probably spend some time Friday visiting galleries on the Rondout.

I don't know what's going on with the van. Don hasn't called, and I figure no news is good news.

There are FOUR bird's nests on or near the front porch. The pair of finches on the north light fixture, cardinals on the top of the south light, an unidentified pair on the bottom of the south light, and another unidentified pair in the shrub right next to the steps/ramp. All the nests have eggs, three in each. Roman fixed the switch last night so I can turn the porch lights on, but -- now I can't turn them on until the baby birds are out of the nests. I don't like not having a light, but I love having the birds, so it evens out.... But I'm going to get the wire up to foil nesting before the second round of egg-laying starts in mid-summer!

#659 Van, Volunteer, Dinner

Yeah, a dud title, but it's to help me find entries, not to attract you!

Back in February, I had to have a sensor in the van replaced, and because it was a Saturday, I had the work done at my second-choice shop. So when the "check engine" light went on again last Thursday, I took the van to my first-choice shop (right next door to the second-choice). Guess what? It's the same sensor. And it's not anything wrong with the engine - it's definitely the sensor. So I spent some time today going back and forth between the two shops, because the sensor is still under the supplier's warranty, but I want the first-choice shop to do the replacement, not the second-choice shop. As of 5 pm, the issue of who gets what refund how and from whom was still unresolved. And I'm still driving the rental car.

I went over to the Maritime Museum this afternoon to meet the people and see what they have for me to do. There were no times available in the gift shop that worked for me, so I'm going to be working on maintenance. I get to paint an interior wall this Friday! (And, as Roman pointed out, that leaves the gift shop for "the little old ladies", which is just as well.) So today I got the tour and found out where the tools and supplies are, and so on.

Roman tutored Peter this afternoon, after which he came here and I cooked us dinner while he replaced the light switch in the foyer, and the batteries in the kitchen phone, then tested all the old batteries around here. Some of the batteries had "use by" dates of like 1998! Odd, but the date on the batteries had only a casual relationship to the tested strength.

Man, I'm rusty in the kitchen! I've cooked twice in the past four months, and neither meal came out as well as I'd hoped. At least this one was edible. The salad was actually pretty good.

I sent him home at 9, I was pretty tired. But I'll see him again tomorrow night. There's a Mensa dinner at a Cuban restaurant near his home, so I'll meet him at his house and we'll go together.

On other fronts, Fishkill sent an email today, says he'll call "soon", now that the project he'd been concentrating on is over. And there's a guy in Pleasant Valley that I'd been e-corresponding with over the past two weeks who sounded very interesting -- I was about ready to suggest that we meet -- until his email today, wherein he divulged that six years ago he "became a full gospel Pentecostal Christian". Oops. I see a potential for major friction. What had tripped the balance with Dreyfuss last week was his announcement that he was looking for an evangelical church to attend. My dating site profile says that "I eschew organized religion". Roman, after he stopped laughing, suggested that I might want to use a word everyone understands.

Bedtime. G'night.

#658 The Medieval Archetype Test

Lover I'm not telling your actual score. Hmph!

The Lover (or Poet) is a rare type. (S)He has a rather contradictory nature. He is completely unselfish and generally regards others above himself, yet somehow in his effort to please, often ends up doing things that appear completely self-centered. The Lover loves people and strives for acceptance, but at the same time withdraws from the world. Lovers are authors, artists, philosophers, and musicians. They live unorthodox, unconventional, or even chaotic lives. Lovers experience the highest highs and lowest lows. The Lover's complement is the hardened, unhesitant Warrior.

Link: The Medieval Archetype Test written by isayso on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

#657 Peanut Rebound

Monday, April 24, 2006

Remember the 6 30-gallon bags of plastic peanuts I delivered to Spackenkill Road (almost an hour away) last Thursday, when I tore up the bottom of the van on the woman's driveway?

Guess what I found on the ecycle list today.

OFFERED - 6 30-gal bags of plastic peanuts - Spackenkill Road

Must pick up TODAY by 5pm. Town of Poughkeepsie, off Spackenkill Road.
I got them from another ecycler, but can't use them; there are just too
many! The bags are huge, so please bring mini van or p/u truck that
will hold them.

Duh? Yup. That's her. I recognized the email address. There were lots of people closer, with decent driveways, to whom I could have given them. But she wanted them, and she was first in. And now not only is she reoffering them, but she's apparently not keeping any? She can't use them because there are "too many"? Duh?

I don't understand.

From now on I don't deliver.

#656 Volunteer Assignment

I went to the RSVP (Retired and Senior Volunteer Program) meeting this morning, and I got my assignment.

RSVP takes in requests for volunteers from all kinds of programs and not-for-profit organizations, and then farms volunteers out wherever needed. The woman asked me what I'd like to do, where I'd like to go (and I couldn't say "Wherever I'm most likely to meet healthy active 57-63 year-old men"), so I said the northeastern part of the county, and I'm shy and not very good at conversation (true), so visiting nursing homes and shut-ins probably isn't the best for me.

So, I have been assigned to the Hudson River Maritime Museum, on the Rondout. This may be ideal for me! She also said that the allover average for the RSVP volunteers is 2 to 4 hours a week. I can certainly do that, and still have time left over for Habitat for Humanity. I'd sorta like to do some respite care for Hospice, too, just a few hours a week. I remember how much I appreciated that when Jay was sick, but I think I'll wait a bit and see how this works out.

I have to be careful not to overcommit. Last time I did that, I figured that since I was working 40 hours a week for free, I may as well get paid, and I went back to work full time. Don't want to get back into that thinking....

I was surprised at the other volunteers at the meeting. They were all a lot older than me, and many of them were rather frail looking. Some will be assigned to drive people to medical appointments and on errands. That's a bit scary.

#655 What's My Major?

You scored as Mathematics. You should be a Math major! Like Pythagoras, you are analytical, rational, and are always ready to tackle the problem head-on! Mathematics 100% Psychology 92% English 92% Engineering 83% Philosophy 58% Linguistics 58% Journalism 58% Sociology 42% Dance 33% Theater 33% Art 33% Biology 25% Chemistry 25% Anthropology 17% What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3) created with QuizFarm.

Ahah! I did major in math, with an English minor. Psychology was (and still is) a major interest, but not much was offered in the only school I could afford to go to. Oddly, I'm actually not much interested in math, or in writing. I'm more interested in analysis and synthesis, and in reading. In other words, just dabbling. I wonder what that means. (Probably means I'm lazy.)

#654 Sunday Defrag

Busy day today. It's pouring out, so I can't take stuff down to the basement, but I at least moved more containers to nearer the door and dusted off more shelf space in the basement.

I called the Hunk about the chimney work, watered the plants, made the hotel reservation for the trip to Ricketts Glen, took the van to the service station, dropped off the key with a note about what's wrong, picked up the rental car, and paid some bills. All I need to do now is wash my hair.

Last night, about 10 pm, I started a defragmenting run on the PC, and as of about 5 pm today it still wasn't finished. It says the "drive's content has changed: restarting..." about every 90 seconds. I had stopped everything except "creative launcher", "explorer", "rundll", and "systray". I don't really know what those things ARE, but either they won't or can't go away when I say "end task" on ctrl/alt/delete, so whatever they do, there's no way to stop them.

I finally gave up and called Hercules, and he said it might be my virus scanner waking up every so often. I finally just gave up on it. I'd really like to figure it out, though. This dog is getting slower and slower.

Roman called this evening, and he agreed it's probably the virus scanner. That, or a virus. Gack! And he says I should be able to stop "rundll", and that "creative launcher" must be something Jay added. Jay "improved" and recoded a lot of standard stuff on this machine, which is one of the biggest problems in maintaining it. A lot of it is nonstandard, and you don't know what until you run right into it.

I was shuffling through some old CDs this afternoon, and I found the backups Jay had made when he first installed this Windows 98 SE. There was also a disk labeled "Drives C and D Backup", AND one labeled "Drives E and F Backup".

E and F?

C and D are hard disks, but "My Computer" doesn't know anything about E or F. Roman says that Jay had obviously partitioned the hard disk (hence C and D), and it's possible that E and F are "hidden" partitions - which would explain why Jay had told me we had xx gigabytes of hard drive, but when I ask the computer how much we have, it shows a lot less. It would be interesting to find out what's on that E and F backup CD.

Roman says there is usually a way to make the hidden disks available by hitting a particular key (possibly a function key) on IPL, but there's no way to know what key, and there's probably a partitioning program around that I maybe could get to E and F through, but it's one of those things you don't touch unless you know exactly what you're doing.

Yeah, every once in a while I see that program, and so far I have resisted playing with it.

(I haven't seen anything associated with the AAVIT partnership on the visible disks, so I'll bet that's where it all is. And probably IBM stuff from when he was working from home. That doesn't seem to exist anywhere else, either.)

Oh, well. I am going to buy a new machine sometime soon. After I get the den cleaned out, I think. I guess I can limp along until then....

#653 Robbed!

I went to the flea market at the fair grounds today (free parking and free entry, by the way). It was HUGE!! as promised. There were vendors in all five buildings, plus tents outside around the buildings. Lots and lots of stuff, some new, some old, and all of it really cheap. I hadn't intended to buy anything - I'm mainly in throwing-out mode these days - but it was only 41 degrees at noon and raining steadily, and after two weeks of high 60s/low 70s, I wasn't dressed warmly enough. One of the first booths I passed was selling sweatshirts for $3, so I bought a really nice fuzzy gray one.

I walked around checking prices on items similar to things I have and want to get rid of, and admiring the crafty things. Despite my promise, I did buy something - a carved walking stick. The guy finds oddly shaped sticks/branches, and fashions them into fantasy animals. I bought a beasty with googly eyes and a mouthful of real deer teeth.

Because of the rain, it was very crowded. You had to weave in and out of clumps of people. I had my cash, folded, in a half-zipped pocket in my purse. The purse was in a large tote bag over my shoulder. I had peeled off $3 to pay for the sweatshirt, and $20 for the stick (inside the purse - I never actually took the wad out) and then I got hungry. At the food booth, I discovered that I had no money. There had been somewhere between $85 and $120 in there. I searched the purse and the tote bag, and it was gone. A pickpocket? I figure that'll teach me. If I had bought everything I wanted, at least now I'd have something to show for the money!

After the fair, I picked up the keys for the rental car (I'll drop off the van and switch to the rental tomorrow), and then met the roofers here and signed the contracts for the roof and the exhaust fan. Now we need a week's worth of dry weather.

-------------------------------

Nightline did a bit on rising gasoline prices last night. They laid the blame mainly on two factors. There's a law that requires that refineries add MTBE (ethanol?)(Later correction - see explanation at bottom of entry), and few refineries are currently set up to do it, which is causing an artificial shortage. China and India have increased their energy demands over the past few years, which puts more pressure on the supply, and therefore increases the price. I would add drivers of SUVs and Hummers (which Nightline mentioned but not so much as a cause, more as victims, who don't care because they are willing to pay it), and something that no one ever mentions - the building of all those superhighways and the increased power of the trucking companies, both of which led to the demise of the railroads and mass transit. A news program today pointed out the huge profits of the oil companies, and included a clip of GWB promising to look into gouging.

(Is it gouging when a company charges what other companies charge, everywhere? Is it gouging when we still pay about half what Europe pays? Is it gouging when pharmaceutical companies charge what the market will bear for cancer drugs? If US oil companies charged too little for the gasoline, then what's to stop other countries from buying it out from under us and taking it on home, causing a major domestic shortage? If I were France, I would! At what point does capitalism turn into gouging? Just a question -- no point intended.)

It bothers me that the perceived high price of gas increases anger toward middle eastern countries, when the US gets only about 15% of our crude from the middle east. Middle Eastern oil goes mainly to Europe and Asia. We get ours mostly from North, Central, and South America and a few other African countries, who, of course, charge as much as they can get away with. No altruism.

(Later edit - That didn't sound right, because I remembered that MTBE is a groundwater polluter, something I was worried about when Daughter was living in the middle of what amounted to an automobile junkyard, drinking and showering from a well. So I looked it up. The requirement is that refineries move away from MTBE and switch to ethanol. Since some localities will no longer allow the sale of gasoline with MTBE, and refineries are slow making the switch, the demand for gasoline with ethanol exceeds the supply. MTBE and ethanol both combat air pollution.)

#652 Ricketts Glen Plans

I am going to Ricketts Glen the weekend of May 20. Let me know if anyone would like to join me.

#651 More Great Photos From Egypt

A Nation for All - http://www.bloglines.com/preview?siteid=5222683&itemid=27